Eli woke up abruptly from his dream, as if he had been dragged back to reality from the depths of an abyss.
His entire body was soaked, cold sweat trailing down his forehead and dripping off his cheeks, while his chest rose and fell violently.
He sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly, his fingers gripping the corner of the sheet as though he was still caught in the suffocating grip of the dream.
The dim ceiling and the still, quiet air around him left him feeling disoriented, unsure for a moment whether he was truly awake.
He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, but the images from the dream clung to him like scorching brands, impossible to erase.
He tried to recall more details, but the scenes were rapidly disintegrating, turning into indistinct fragments, leaving only a profound sense of helplessness lingering in his heart.
“It’s just a dream… just a dream…”
He muttered to himself, his hands braced on his knees, his head hanging slightly, as though repeating those words might convince him.
Yet the pounding of his heart and the lingering pressure on his chest were too real to ignore.
Outside, silence enveloped everything, with a faint glimmer of dawn breaking through the darkness.
The streets of Queens were unusually quiet, broken only by the occasional distant rumble of wheels, as though caught between wakefulness and slumber.
The air carried a faint chill of early morning, as if the city’s usual clamor had been drained away, leaving behind this fleeting moment of stillness.
Eli sat still for a moment before reaching for the nightstand. The cold touch of his phone brought him back to reality, if only slightly.
The screen lit up, displaying the date and time: October 17th, 6:17 AM.
The numbers hovered lifelessly in the center of the screen, stark and indifferent.
His gaze lingered on the “17” and “6:17,” as a vague sense of unease began to creep through him.
Images from his dream suddenly resurfaced in his mind:
A cracked clock face, its hands frozen at 9 o’clock, with jagged cracks spidering outward from the center.
In his ears, a low, oppressive hum echoed—a weighty sound, as though rising from the depths of the earth.
Instinctively, he lowered his phone and placed it face down on the nightstand, but the suffocating pressure didn’t dissipate; instead, it grew even stronger.
Leaning back against the pillow, Eli covered his face with his hand, trying to shake off the inexplicable weight bearing down on him.
He took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself, but his thoughts remained ensnared by the lingering fragments of his dream, refusing to let go.
"Too much stress," Eli murmured, offering himself a simple explanation.
Recently, he had been working tirelessly, his days and nights blurred together, often staying up until the early hours of the morning.
But could a dream feel this real?
The almost tangible details and the suffocating terror were nothing like an ordinary nightmare.
He even felt that the scenes were more akin to fragments of reality forcibly implanted into his mind.
Eli rubbed his face vigorously, pressing his fingers against his temples in an attempt to ease the faint throbbing in his head.
He tried to distract himself, letting his gaze wander across every corner of the room.
On the nightstand sat a metallic desk lamp next to a stack of well-thumbed books, several of which were technical manuals on network engineering.
Across from him, a laptop rested quietly on the desk, its dark screen faintly reflecting the room’s light. Scattered nearby were a few sticky notes covered in handwritten notes and an old coffee mug.
The narrow bookshelf behind the desk was crammed with books—mostly technical guides, but also a few worn sci-fi novels and a small model figurine.
A jacket was draped over the chair by the window, while the potted plant on the windowsill looked slightly yellowed, its leaves drooping as if drained of vitality.
The floor was bare except for a small gray rug by the bed.
The familiar arrangement of the room seemed to reassure him that it was all just a dream.
He let out a long sigh, bracing his palms on his knees and forcing himself to get up.
With stiff, sluggish steps, he walked to the window, drew back the curtain, and looked outside.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!
The street was unusually quiet, the faint glow of the streetlights casting light over the empty road.
A few trees swayed gently in the wind, their shadows flickering on the ground as if whispering some hidden language.
He gazed at the stillness, trying to find some solace in the reality before him.
Yet the lingering weight of the dream clung to him, echoing in his mind and refusing to let him rest.
Eli knew he couldn’t continue like this. He had to do something to break free from this state.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, trying to strip away the blurry fragments of the dream from his thoughts.
Pulling himself together, he forced his focus back on the present, pushing the memories of last night’s dream to the back of his mind.
He walked to the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water on his face. The icy sensation washed away some of his lingering fatigue.
In the mirror, his bloodshot eyes and furrowed brow betrayed the toll of a restless night.
He shook his head, quickly brushed his teeth, washed up, and changed into a clean dark jacket and jeans. His movements were mechanical but practiced.
Returning to his room, he stood by his desk and began preparing his gear for the day.
A laptop, power cord, tool kit, and a marker—he checked each item methodically.
After reviewing his task list one more time, he carefully packed everything into his backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and got ready to leave.
Before leaving, he glanced at his phone screen. The numbers hovered quietly, giving him pause for a brief moment.
He shook his head and reassured himself, "It’s just a dream."
Pushing the thought aside, he walked to the entryway, changed his shoes, and grabbed the keys hanging by the wall.
Eli stepped out of his apartment, greeted by the crisp morning air. He pulled his jacket collar tighter and made his way down the familiar streets.
The air carried a faint chill, tinged with a hint of dampness. Occasionally, a few birds chirped from the treetops.
The streetlights hadn’t fully gone out yet, their glow mingling with the slowly rising morning light, casting dappled patterns across the uneven pavement.
A few pedestrians began trickling onto the streets, most clutching coffee cups or carrying breakfast bags, hurrying toward the subway station.
Cars rolled by at a slow pace, their engines occasionally breaking the stillness and adding a faint touch of life to the waking city.
Eli descended the subway platform, where a bustling crowd of passengers had gathered, waiting for the next train.
The sharp screech of the arriving train’s brakes echoed piercingly through the quiet platform, the metallic grind against the rails slicing through the air like an invisible tear.
The jarring sound pulled his thoughts back to his dream—the same kind of indistinct, oppressive rumble.
The sound was just as piercing, like some enormous machine endlessly churning, suffocating in its oppressive intensity.
Now, that familiar heaviness washed over him again, causing his hand to tremble slightly.
As the train doors opened slowly, Eli stepped aboard, making a conscious effort to ignore the lingering shadow of unease.
Eli found a corner to stand in, leaning against the handrail as he lowered his head to review the day’s task emails, confirming equipment requirements and setup plans.
Inside the train car, most passengers were either absorbed in their phones or resting with their eyes closed.
Eli casually pulled out his headphones and started playing a piece of soothing music.
The lights of the tunnel flashed rapidly outside the window, and his gaze settled on his reflection in the glass.
The reflection blurred, intertwining with fragments from his dream, indistinct and unsettling.
He shook his head and looked away, focusing instead on the rhythm of the music.
The train slowly pulled into the station, and Eli followed the crowd out, greeted by the bustling morning streets of Manhattan.
Cars lined up in slow-moving traffic, pedestrians hurried past, and crowds gathered in front of a corner coffee stand, vying for their breakfast orders.
With some time to spare, Eli decided to take a moment to recalibrate and prepare for the day ahead.
He strolled down the street at an unhurried pace before finally pushing open the door to a familiar café.
The chime of the doorbell jingled softly, a cheerful note that seemed to welcome his arrival.
Warm air, carrying the inviting aroma of coffee and cream, greeted him and sharply contrasted with the crisp chill of the morning outside.
He ordered an Americano and chose a seat by the window.
The café wasn’t particularly busy; a few patrons were immersed in their own activities:
One person flipped through a laptop screen, another tapped away on a phone, and a young couple whispered quietly to each other.
The occasional hiss of the coffee machine blended with the soft background music, adding a touch of tranquility to the space.
Eli held his coffee cup in both hands, the warmth against his palms easing his tension slightly.
His gaze drifted over the rim of the cup to the view outside the window:
The streets teemed with people, business professionals in tailored suits hurrying in different directions, each immersed in their own routine.
Sunlight glinted off the glass fa?ades of buildings, reflecting a gentle radiance, as though the entire city were immersed in an unshakable rhythm of stability.
Yet the calmness of reality brought Eli an inexplicable unease.
He lowered his eyes to the coffee’s surface, watching the liquid ripple slightly, his mind involuntarily conjuring fragments of his dream.
The shattered clock, the cracked dial, the deep, resonant hum—these details lingered like blurred echoes in the recesses of his memory.
Eli glanced at his phone. The screen displayed the time: 8:47. He then raised his head and looked out the window again.
The street remained bustling, sunlight now stretching across the pavement as crowds moved in orderly streams. Everything seemed perfectly normal.
“It’ll be fine,” he murmured to himself, trying to anchor his thoughts in the present reality.
Eli’s gaze returned to his phone. The digits shifted from 8:59 to 9:00.
In that instant, he felt his breath catch, his body instinctively tensing.
His fingers unconsciously tightened around the coffee cup, as though bracing for something imminent.
But everything around him remained unchanged.
The coffee machine emitted a soft hiss of steam, and the barista behind the counter chatted casually with a customer.
Outside, the streets were still lively, people moving steadily, cars driving smoothly.
Sunlight bathed the pavement, the shadows of trees swaying gently, as if the entire city were untouched by any hint of disruption.
Eli’s eyes settled on his phone screen once again, watching the time tick forward—9:03.
He rubbed his temples, fragments of the dream still lingering in his mind.
The shattered clock, the cracked dial, the unmoving hands frozen firmly at 9 o’clock.
A few minutes past nine? Morning or afternoon? Today or tomorrow? No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember.
His gaze drifted toward the window. Everything outside seemed perfectly normal. The serene view stood in stark contrast to the chaotic scenes from his dream.
The clock, the cracks, the hum, the explosion…
Those inexplicable fragments of the dream began to fade, becoming distant and blurry in his mind.
Eli stood up, pushed his cup to the edge of the table, and stepped out of the café. The bright sunlight greeted him warmly.
He squinted slightly, took a deep breath, adjusted the strap of his bag, and walked briskly toward Grand Central Station.
Though a faint unease lingered in his chest, he reassured himself:
It was nothing more than a dream brought on by stress. Reality remained calm and steady, and life was the only thing that truly mattered.